


Living

by Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Shawshank Redemption - All Media Types
Genre: Bromance, Domestication, Gen, Happy Ending, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:11:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After joining Andy Dufresne in Zihuatanejo, Red discovers that part of learning to live again is recognizing the importance of those who are close to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jonesandashes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonesandashes/gifts).



In July, in the blazing heat of the Mexican sun, they work on Andy's boat, taking the old paint from the hull. The task is mechanical but soothing; there's a satisfaction of seeing the paint peel away in flakes, in losing oneself to the repetitive scraping. To the slight ache in his shoulders and the tenderness in his fingertips from brushing away the removed paint. The work is familiar to Red and yet unfamiliar at the same time; it's somewhat strange to be doing something just for the pleasure of it. At the same time, Red's never been one to be idle, so the work is a necessity.

It isn't completely frivolous, of course. Red could figure enough from how Andy lived and from what he said to believe Andy could live out the rest of his life here, that they both could, on the remains of Warden Norton's money. But the semblance of a legitimate business brings a security to their existence in Zihuatanejo. Andy hadn't set any expectations for Red join in his efforts, of course, and even his alluded need for 'a man who knows how to get things' seems to have melted away in the heat of this strange paradise. But he also hadn't argued Red's presence when he followed him down to the beach the day after arriving in Zihuatanejo, instead showing him how to do what was needed without question.

Red loves it immediately, the sweat and the heat and the scent of old wood and paint and the sea. Andy works shirtless sometimes, and he loves the way his skin has darkened to a rich gold in the sun, the way his muscles surge and pull and sweat trickles over his skin in the sun. The streaks of gold the sun has bleached into his hair. Tall glass of water indeed.

He keeps those thoughts to himself, like he always has. It doesn't matter, anyway. He'd come to the realization long ago that when he'd lost his freedom, he'd lost with it the possibility of ever being with someone, romantically or carnally. His admiration is just one more thing in the list of the many things he admires about Andy. One more cause of the deep, warm satisfaction he feels at the knowledge that he's worth enough to Andy to be considered a friend.

In the middle of the day he catches sight of a band of children making their way across the sand, barefoot and dirty, as he rather always thought children should be in the summer. A couple of them carry net bags over their shoulders, and when they get closer Red can see the bags are full of young, green coconuts.

Andy turns to follow his gaze, smiles, lifts a hand and calls out a greeting that sounds familiar. The children speak to him in a mixture of English and what he assumes is simple Spanish, and Andy negotiates the transaction with careful concentration and perhaps just a little pride. When the children leave, he's given them several coins to leave behind four young coconuts, part of the husk already cut away.

"These things grow on the trees for free, you know," Red says to Andy with a wry smile as the children skip away happily across the sand. "You're being swindled."

Andy says nothing, flicking open his pocket knife and stabbing it into the coconut with practiced ease. Another stab and he pries opens a hole to the center, a squirt of coconut water escaping to run down the side of the fruit and over his dusty fingers as he holds it out to Red. When Red takes it, he finds the fruit surprisingly cool, and when he presses his lips to the hole in the fruit he finds the liquid inside crisp and refreshing with just a touch of sweetness. In the heat of the sun it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

When he lowers the coconut he finds Andy watching him with a small smile on his lips. It's one that's fond and carefree, and Red's seen it more in the past few weeks than he ever had in all their years at Shawshank. "Some things are worth a few coins," Andy says simply, cutting open a second coconut and lifting it to his lips, drinking deeply.

***

"You picked the perfect time to come," Andy tells him in August, as they sit at the kitchen table, heavy rain beating down on the windows outside.

"Just in time to get myself drowned?" Red asks with a smirk, just to hear Andy laugh.

"Just in time to keep me company during the rain," Andy replies, moving his queen. Red hadn't realized he'd brought the old chess set with him from Shawshank until he'd seen it here, sitting on the window sill one morning, the pieces bright in the sun and polished smooth from their years of play. "Check."

Andy's hotel is three small buildings; two of which hold eight guest rooms each, and the last with the kitchen, common area, and smaller staff bedrooms on the top floor where they stay. When the place is fixed up Andy intends to hire a chef, a housekeeper, but for now it's just the two of them. As the summer grows longer, they work on sprucing up the first building, fixing broken shutters and floorboards, sanding and whitewashing the interior until everything is bright and beautiful. The buildings are old, but solidly built, and Red finds his years of working in the woodshop are more valuable than he expected. He'll make a sign, when Andy decides on a name for the place, and perhaps when the rains stop they'll even take in a few guests.

When Red wakes up in the morning, he can open the shutters and lean out to see the Pacific, feel the ocean breeze on his face. He's beginning to understand what Andy meant about the Pacific having no memory.

Not because it's taking anything away from him...

... but because here in the sand and the sun, with the bright stars in the night sky and even with the rain... here with the fresh air and the unending blue of the ocean in front of him...

... here with Andy's quiet, bright smile....

... here, the darkness of Shawshank begins to stop haunting him.

***

Red had realized long ago that Andy was the most beautiful thing about Shawshank. What he hadn't realized was how much brighter his feathers would be when he was no longer caged, and he adores him all the more for it. Their existence is, if not luxurious, then at least far more idyllic than anything Red could have ever contemplated for himself. He begins to pick up a little Spanish, with Andy's help. He even begins to enjoy it when the urchins come by almost daily, always bringing new things to try and part Andy from his wealth.

Andy humors them far more often than Red ever would, but the happiness it brings to him reminds Red of a day so long ago when they all sat on the rooftop in the sun, drinking the ice cold beer he'd earned for them while Andy looked on and smiled and didn't touch a drop. Because with every kindness Andy shows, another day in Shawshank can be pushed aside, cast into the Pacific to be washed clean.

In October, the rains begin to slow as the season changes and the day of the dead approaches. The children bring a myriad of things from he market: colourful sugar skulls and calavera, lovingly painted statues of saints and bunches of bright orange marigolds they call _cempasúchil_. They show Andy how to set up his own _ofrendas_ , an altar of offerings to the dead in a quiet corner of the common room.

"Are you really going to buy everything they try and sell you?" Red asks as he watches Andy light two candles in front of the altar.

"Not everything," Andy replies, stepping back and regarding the mass of flowers and sugar skulls, critical. "We should go to the market tomorrow and get more."

"So your end goal here is to turn native, then?"

Andy shrugs, a little smile playing about his lips. "I like the idea of celebrating the lives of those who have passed. There's too much sadness in the world already."

"That there is," Red agrees, watching his friend. There's always so much going on up in Andy's head, and with how seldom he chooses to share it Red is grateful when he does. This turns out to be one of those times.

"I think about them sometimes," Andy says, after a long moment, turning from the altar and heading slowly out onto the front porch, shaded from the glare of the sun. Only a few trees and bushes and a low cliff sit between them and the beach, the sun-bleached sand. "Tommy. Brooks. Everyone we knew in there who died and everyone who's still there. I feel like someone should remember them with some happiness, don't you?"

Red lets a hand rest on Andy's shoulder as he nods slowly, just enjoying warmth of Andy's skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. The simple connection. "You're a good man, Andy Dufresne."

The look Andy gives him in response to his statement is thoughtful, and hard to read, though it's not unusual, for Andy. For a long moment Red wonders if he's said the wrong thing and somehow upset him.

"I try," Andy says finally, favoring him with a smile and turning back inside.

***

"Is there anything special you reckon we should do for Christmas?" Red asks as they sit on the porch one night after dinner in early December, watching the stars come out over the Pacific. They've been doing this more and more lately, unwinding at the end of the day, having a cigarette and enjoying each other’s company. They have their first guests staying in the hotel for a week, a young couple and their son. Sometimes he catches Andy watching them, a kind of wistful sadness in his eyes.

The village children have been all too obliging of Andy's request to help him decorate, and the common room is filled with poinsettias and paper chains. But Andy still seems restless. Not unhappy, just... not completely settled.

"Would you like to do anything special?" Andy asks in response, and, a little awkwardly, Red realizes he doesn't have a reply. Christmas on the inside was nothing special. It just meant more Bible study, and, if they were lucky, an extra pack of cigarettes and a little more food.

"Well, I'd like to get you something," Red says finally, because he does, even if he has no idea what for buy for Andy anymore. He'd briefly thought about finding another poster of some sexy broad just for old times sake, but it doesn't seem quite right, here.

Andy gives a soft hum of understanding, but is otherwise silent, thoughts far away for a long moment. Then he turns and gives Red a smile. "Actually, there is something I'd like."

Red raises an eyebrow, waiting, finally having to prompt, "Which is?"

"I'll tell you on Christmas Day."

"That won't give me much time to track it down," Red points out, but Andy only smiles, leaning back on the porch bench and putting his arms behind his head.

"You won't need any time at all," he says, still smiling.

***

Their guests have moved on by the time Christmas Day rolls around, and Red finds himself appreciating having the hotel to themselves. There's a simple, comfortable happiness he feels whenever it's only him and Andy together. He hasn't brought up the question of gifts again, knowing that Andy will tell him his thoughts in his own time, as he always does.

They're on the porch again after dinner when Andy hands him the ribbon-wrapped box with a soft smile. "I got this for you."

The Harmonica inside is big, silver inlaid with mother of pearl, new and brightly polished, shining in the lamplight. It's a beautiful 16-hole chromatic with a sliding bar to change the pitch and Red is almost hesitant to lift it from its box. He's certain it must have been expensive. Red still has the instrument Andy had given him in Shawshank, of course, carefully tucked away in a pocket of his suitcase, but he's never played it. He couldn't do it on the inside, not when it was a symbol of the kind of hope he thought he couldn't afford to have. After coming to Mexico he hadn't really needed it.

"Merry Christmas," Andy says softly, watching him, a little anxious. "I hope it's alright. I know the one I bought in Shawshank wasn't the right time. But maybe, out here...."

Red smiles in reply, lifting the instrument to his lips. He's rusty, but it's not difficult to remember the old skill. Silent night seems appropriate, the tones of the harmonica sweet and soulful as they fade away into the darkness. It feels good to play, he realizes. What feels better is the look in Andy's eyes as he watches Red with the harmonica. It's the same contented happiness Red had seen so long ago when he'd earned them all that beer, the same peace he sees when they work together on the boat in the sun.

"It's beautiful, Andy. Thank you." Red rubs a fingerprint off the silver with his sleeve, setting the harmonica in his lap. "Don't suppose you'll tell me now what it is you're wanting?"

"You just gave it to me," Andy replies, still smiling. "I just wanted to hear you play."

Red chuckles. "Could have asked for that a long time ago. I'll play whenever you like."

"Seemed like it would make a great addition to our evenings," Andy agrees, leaning back on the bench again. He's silent for a long moment, looking out at the stars and the sea, and when he speaks again his words are even more careful, more calculated than normal.

"I know I don't say it often, but... I'm really happy you're here with me, Red. Thank you."

The words warm him unexpectedly, and Red glances away, not quite sure of how to reply to the sudden sentiment. "It's nothing. You were the one who got me down here, anyway."

"It's not nothing," Andy replies seriously, turning towards him and catching his gaze intently. "Red, listen to me. The biggest mistake I ever made was not showing my wife how much she meant to me. I don't want to do that again."

There's some deeper meaning to his words which Red's not quite sure he's understanding correctly, and he wants to draw it out, so he opens up, himself. "No, I mean it. Bringing me down here might well have saved my life, Andy. I wasn't made for the real world back home. Given enough time and I may well have just landed myself back in Shawshank. Or worse. But you made me make that promise in Shawshank, that promise to go after your hope, and that's what really set me free. I won't ever take it for granted."

What he doesn't expect is for Andy to reach out and cover a hand with his own. His fingers are calloused from the work they've been doing all summer, his skin warm and dry. "It was hard to keep hope alive on the inside. Sometimes I wanted to give in. But then I got to know you, and it made me believe that no matter how much I'd lost I could still go on. You mean the world to me, Red. I didn't want to be here without you."

Maybe it was all that needed to be said, because some things didn't really need words. The warmth of Andy's hand on his stoked a happiness inside him that seemed untouchable. It was what Andy had always done, whether it be with a word or a smile or by locking himself in the Warden's office just to play that beautiful music over the loudspeakers.

That was Andy.

Something so beautiful it couldn't be expressed in words... and made your heart ache because of it.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yule! I really appreciated the opportunity to go back and re-watch this movie again, I'd forgotten how beautiful and impactful it is. I hope I was able to portray a little of that here for you.
> 
> Special thanks to my ever-excellent partner in crime, ElDiablito_SF, for the beta. <3


End file.
